Narrowing his eyes on Rafe, Ethan lifted his upper lip and Rafe watched as a pair of perfect white fangs deftly slid into place with a growl.
“Nicely done, pet,” Rafe continued, unruffled by Ethan’s challenging glare.
“Don’t call him that,” Marcus snapped as he entered the room.
Usually a command like that only encouraged Rafe to continue, but Marcus’s tone made it clear he would happily crush his brother’s neck over it. And in truth, the name was a little more tasteless than his usual playful teasing. Ethan Varik was no pet. He was Marcus’s mate. His cherished love. And Rafe respected that, maybe even envied it.
“The hunting goes well,” Marcus said as he sat on the couch next to Ethan. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer, as if he didn’t want more than a centimeter of open space between them.
“Except that I have to do it every night,” Ethan groaned. “Some nights I just want to lie around and do nothing.”
Rafe smirked. “You have an eternity in front of you, Little Varik. Plenty of time for fucking my dear brother.”
Ethan’s smile became smug, and he sat up a little straighter. “Trust me, doing your brother is not doing nothing.”
Rafe flinched and tried to scrub the immediate mental image from his brain as Marcus’s laughter filled the room.
“You started it,” Bel needlessly pointed out. It was true; Rafe had walked into that one. He still wasn’t accustomed to having someone so willing to fire comments at him with such brazen enthusiasm, let alone about his brother’s sex life. Hell, if his brothers’ conversations were to be believed, Rafe was sure he was the only one of them having sex. Until Ethan arrived, of course.
Sighing loudly, Rafe returned his attention to Marcus. “We’re still waiting on Wee One? I do have other things to see to this evening. I—”
“I’m here,” Winter said as he strolled through the open doorway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his long black jacket. The youngest of the Varik brothers smirked as he walked past and dropped into the remaining empty chair. Rafe had a feeling he’d heard his back and forth with Ethan.
“How goes the Ministry?” Winter inquired. At least he was moving them forward to the real reason for their gathering.
“Pissed,” Marcus grumbled. Not that anyone was surprised by that announcement. The war between the Variks and the Black Wolf clan was not the problem. Minerva had led an attack on the Variks, kidnapped three of them, and killed Julianna. They had been well within their rights to slaughter every last fucking one of them. The Ministry had no problem with Minerva’s death or the disbanding of the clan.
No, their problem was with how Minerva’s final death was accomplished.
“They want to execute me, don’t they?” Bel said in a soft but firm voice.
Rafe’s hands tightened into fists, but he clamped his mouth shut. There was no point in him shouting that no one was going to lay a hand on Bel. All his brothers could easily agree on that. He couldn’t stomach the idea that his twin was able to voice such a thought so calmly. No one who knew Bel could ever want to hurt him.
Yes, Bel could be a little absent-minded and lost in his own world of science, but he knew of no one with a kinder, warmer heart than sweet Bel.
“Some are arguing that we share the formula for that poison you’ve created,” Marcus started.
“Never going to happen,” Bel barked. “Creating it was purely an accident. And yes, I never should have used it. But allowing it to fall into the hands of others would be even more careless.”
“That’s why I’m arguing that you will destroy all remaining vials of the solution and all notes on how to make it again,” Marcus calmly continued.
“And how would we convince the Ministry that Bel fulfilled his end of the bargain?” Winter asked.
Marcus sighed and his hand tightened on Ethan’s shoulder. “If Bel fails to keep his end of the deal and another vampire dies by his poison, then Bel would be immediately executed for failing to obey the orders of the Ministry. No trial. No arguments. No chance for reprieve.”
“That’s fair,” Bel said softly.
“Fair?” Rafe shouted, nearly coming out of his chair. “What if someone decides to make it look like Bel’s poison was used in another’s death?”
Bel smiled at him. “That would be a death very hard to fake. The poison reduces the victim to a…a…”
“Puddle of bubbling goo,” Ethan finished.
“Exactly.”
“Yes, there are holes, but it may be the best we can hope for when it comes to placating the Ministry,” Marcus said. His older brother sounded tired, and Rafe had a feeling that Marcus had spent the better part of the past month arguing with the old bastards just to reach this point.